On Walking Home.

Late one evening on my walk home from work, when the leaves were browning in the amber sun and my mind was worrying at the pavement, I came upon a man in a phone box who had no hands.
It had been a tiresome day of work and my feet were sore from the walk. So, with head lowered and shoulders hunched, I continued on my way past the iron and glass phone box and the predicament within. I was no more than ten paces past however, when a sudden flutter of my mind seized me. I turned and to my surprise saw the handless man gazing, even staring with blatant curiosity at my face. I stepped forward and opened the door of the phone box. The man spoke.
“Excuse me, sir. I was wondering if you could help me; as you can see, I have no hands and cannot use this phone. I have an extremely important call to place- could you dial the number for me? I would not ask were it not so important.”
Despite his precise and eloquent speech, the man was clearly uncomfortable; his eyes darting over my face as he spoke. I looked at the man and considered his request. A slow anger was churning within me- how dare this man, this handless man insult me so? I felt as if he had spat on my face. My fists shook with rage and sweat burned over my body.
I turned away sharply and ran until I was out of sight of the phone box. I gave myself a moment to calm down on a nearby park bench. I watched the clouds flow across the sky. I loosened my collar, took my handkerchief and dapped at my neck, at my forehead and at the pale stretch of skin on my face, where a mouth should be.